


The Princess Who Called Lightning

by Cadhla



Series: Sailor Moon Fairy Tales [1]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Gen, Rabbit in the Moon, Rabbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadhla/pseuds/Cadhla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a fairy tale in everything, if looked at from the right direction, in the right light.  This is the fairy tale of the Princess who called lightning, and everything she lost, and gained, by the light of a loving moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess Who Called Lightning

Once upon a time, in a kingdom surrounded by a great forest so wide it was like a sea, and so tall it was like a mountain, there lived a princess with hair the color of tree bark and eyes the color of new spring leaves. She lived alone in the great palace that had belonged to her parents, for her mother, who was once a queen, had died of a broken heart shortly after her father, a woodcutter who had been elevated by circumstance and true love’s whimsy, was killed by a bolt of lightning. None of her subjects would dare the palace towers now, for they were the only thing in all the kingdom that stood taller than the trees.

“If your father had kept his head down, the lightning would have spared him,” they told her, and their voices were full of fear. “Keep your head low, and do not dare the skies.”

“If your mother had loved less truly and more practically, she would have lived,” they told her, and their voices were full of pity. “Keep your heart close, and do not let it guide you.”

So the princess had the guidance of many, but she questioned their words, because how could the sky, so beautiful and blue and different than the trees that were the world, be bad? And how could love, which had brought her parents so much joy, and which they had showered so generously upon her, be wrong? She did not know who to trust, and so she trusted no one, but walked alone through the palace halls, and wept at night for what she had lost, and what she might never have.

Now it came to pass that rumors began to spread throughout the Kingdom of the Trees. The princess is beautiful, they said, as tall and lovely as an oak, but she does not keep her head down; she will not back away from a challenge, nor stand demure and quiet when she should. Some said, “Our princess is bold,” and they were pleased. Others said, “Our princess is brash,” and they shook their heads and were glad that her mother did not live to see her so unruly.

When those rumors reached the ear of the princess, she sighed, and said, “People will believe what they want to believe.” Then she went down to the kitchen, where she was nearest to the soil, and she baked a pie for the door of every house in her kingdom, that her people might know that she was humble, and that she cared for them. Some ate, and grew bolder. Others refused to touch food that had been created by the hands of a girl with no manners, and they did not see what this meant for their manners, or what it said of their own brashness.

Once more, rumors began to spread throughout the Kingdom of the Trees. The princess is loving, they said, as sweet and generous as her mother, but she does not show patience; she will not wait for her counselors to tell her that her passions are allowed, or that her suitors are the right type. Some said, “Our princess is like her mother,” and they were pleased. Others said, “Our princess is too wild,” and they shook their heads and were glad that her father did not live to see her so uncultured.

When those rumors reached the ear of the princess, she sighed, and said, “People will believe what they want to believe.” Then she went out to her garden, where she had walked once with her mother, and picked a bouquet of roses for the window of every house in her kingdom, that her people might know that she was compassionate, and that she cared for them. Some placed the flowers in vases, and loved them. Others refused to display flowers that had been grown by a girl with no standards, and they did not see what this meant for their standards, or what it said for their own culture.

And still, the princess was alone.

Each night, she would climb to the very top of the very tallest tower, so high that it seemed like she could reach out her hand and speak to the stars. They were all her friends, for they alone had never left her, only passed occasionally from sight, but it was the moon that was her dearest friend, so close and round that it was like a silver apple waiting to be plucked.

“I am very lonely, and I do not know what to do,” she told the moon. “Some of my people view me as an ogre, a brash and horrible creature that is no substitute for my parents, and never could be. Others insist on seeing me as a story, something to be told and turned in their hands like a pretty trinket, but never to have a life of my own. I am tired of fighting. I am tired of silence. I am tired of everything, and I do not know what to do.”

That night, she slept on the slate tiles of the roof, and she dreamt that the moon was a girl in a gold and silver dress, with silver apples in her hair. They walked together until dawn, and what the moon told her was forgotten when the sun rose the next day. Still, a change had come over the princess. Everyone who worked in the palace agreed that something was different, but none could have said what it was, until they woke one day and found that she was gone. They were concerned, of course, but there was nothing to be done, and life in the kingdom was not measurably changed; the princess was a story, after all, and stories endure whether you can see them or not.

As for the princess herself, she had finally decided what must be done. Her mother had loved more, and more generously, than anyone else in the palace. Her father had been braver, and more willing to offer a helping hand, than all the men in all the kingdom’s villages. So she must show that she had in her the best of both of them. She had love in plenty, but bravery was a harder thing to hold, and only one thing truly scared her: the lightning that had taken her father away. So she walked through the forest, dressed in the commonest of clothes, with only a small sack of rice and sweet dumplings, looking for a tree that was tall enough to take her to the lightning.

She had not walked very far when she met a white rabbit sitting on a tree stump. “Hello, puss,” she said, for she was a polite princess. “What are you doing here?”

“Starving,” said the rabbit. “Give me something to eat, and I will help you.”

“I do not have much, but what I have is yours,” said the princess, and gave the rabbit half her lunch, which the rabbit ate in a twinkle. The princess was quite impressed, having never seen a rabbit eat rice before. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” said the rabbit. “Now I will help you. You are looking for the lightning, are you not?”

“I am, but I do not know where to find it,” admitted the princess.

“There is a tree, deep in the forest,” said the rabbit. “It is not so tall as the palace, nor so tempting as a rose garden, but it is good and strong, and it has been struck by lightning many times. I can take you there, but be warned; if you go, you will climb, and if you climb, you will not come back the same.”

“I do not want to come back the same,” said the princess. “I am lonely, and my people do not know me. The lightning may. Take me there, rabbit.”

“As you wish.” The rabbit struck its hind leg against the stump, and then it was off, running so fast it seemed almost to have wings. The princess ran after it, and only her stature allowed her to keep up. At times, all she saw was the bright flash of its tail ahead of her, a glimmer in the darkness. And on they ran, and on they ran, until it seemed that half the kingdom was behind them, and there, in front of them, stood the tree.

It was an old tree, bark burnt silver and black in places by the lightning. Half its needles gone, leaving its branches bare. “This is your place,” said the rabbit. “Climb or no, princess, everything changes.” Then it was gone, hopping away into the dark, and the princess was alone.

She looked after the rabbit for a moment, and then back to the tree. Finally, she walked forward, grabbing the lowest branch, and began to climb.

There are many kinds of princess, and all of them have stories. There are princesses in ice, and they are wise, but they have uncalloused hands; they cannot climb a mighty pine. There are princesses in fire, and they are clever, but their hands are hot; they would set the branches burning. There are princesses in lands where the sun has never set, and they are beautiful, but they have narrow shoulders and slender arms; they cannot pull themselves, hand over hand, until their foreheads brush the sky. This princess was a princess of trees, of tall places and implacable challenges, and she climbed until the sun went down, and there was her old friend moon, shining silver in the darkness.

The princess looked up into the sky, so clear and empty, and shouted, “Where are you? I have come here to find you, and you cannot leave me here alone. You took my father. You took my mother. Now come, lightning, and take me too!”

The sky was clear as any glass has ever been, but still the lightning struck, coming from nowhere to lash out at the princess who dared to challenge it. And she reached up, this princess of green things and growing places, reached up and grabbed it in her own two hands. It fought and snarled, it raged, but still she held it fast, pulling it to her heart.

The lightning spat. The princess smiled. And then, without ever knowing why she did it, she pulled the lightning closer still, until it saw her heart, and knew why she was there. The lightning calmed, flowing into the princess until her fingers spat sparks and her hair stood briefly on end. She blinked, wondering, and looked back up at the moon.

“I am not alone now,” she said. “Is this why I came?”

The moon did not answer. The moon so rarely does.

The princess returned to her palace, and if she was no less bold and no less quick to love or anger, she seemed calmer, more aware of her own skin. The people rejoiced and were content, and bragged far and wide of their princess, who danced in her own lightning storm on the palace roof at night. In time, those stories would travel as far as the lands of those other princesses we have mentioned but not considered further, and things would change again.

But that is another tale to tell.

Now rest, my dear, and be at ease; there’s a fire in the hearth and a wind in the eaves, and the night is so dark, and the dark is so deep, and it’s time that all good little stars go to sleep.


End file.
